Lewis and Clarke, fronted by singer-songwriter Lou Rogai and here helped by Eve Miller of Rachel's and Russell Higbee of Man Man, have for several years quietly glorified the sound of strings. This second full-length is a pared-down complement to 2005's blues-inspired Bare Bones and Branches. Blasts of Holy Birth is at times cloying, weepy, and overly familiar, but at others it's a naturalistic vision that creates a hunger for some the simple, rural images conjured by the instruments.
Sometimes words get in the way, as on "We Think We Have Eyes", a song thick with a generalized guilt and self-awareness. Greed is a perfectly apt subject from a ruminative musician, but the lyrics here are delicately trampled upon, potentially forgettable and incidental, perhaps because Rogai's voice has all the force of a light breeze. While his tone complements the soothing guitar and occasional cello, it's less successful as the carrier of a message. Still, the song's undulating chorus recalls the rare beauty of Matt Pond PA, who's also a contributor here. Rogai's lyrical dive-off just before this moment is perfectly executed, the words punching out their meaning in time to the strings.
Tara Jane O'Neil has a command of atmosphere similar to Lewis & Clarke, the way she showcases the string family without overindulging how instinctively of the land they are. The wandering slides and sixth chords on the opener "Secret of the Golden Flower" are a reminder of this respectful approach, where a very simple grouping of sounds are pushed to their limits with a few effects. The mystical, natural homages in Rogai's vision are conveyed, though our notion of what exactly the "golden flower" is remains vague. The following title track is less successful, its sweet sap and lullaby rhythm too predictable, the instruments too obedient to the typical progressions. But at nearly seven minutes, it's not all dross: the quiet moments (plucks) and loudest (shimmying ascents) are fairly interesting.
The runaway road-trip ballad "Comfort Inn" is a little too Ray LaMontagne, with vocals turned up and guitar plucks skittering around the song's hollow, empty room. The contrast it makes to "Black Dove" and to the final track, "Be the Air We Breathe", actually bolsters them all -- to shift from this man-and-guitar stereotype to the gorgeous summit of "Breathe" is a worthy journey. "Breathe" is where Rogai realizes the most redeemable elements of his other tracks: little alterations of typical chords, locomotive but understated drums, a forceful but controlled rhythm, and several layers of string dialog. "Black Dove" works with similar success, with more thunderous guitars evoking an idealized environment that's unplugged, untouched, and unspoiled.
